Just Another Morning Short

He awoke as normal at five-forty-five on the dot, and proceeded with his morning rituals.  This included the, closed eyed shower, a trick he had learned from his early years.  It was still surprising to him that he could complete an entire shower without ever opening his eyes.  He washed, combed, sprayed, and brushed.  Finally dressing he shambled down the stairs.  

     No sounds echoed as he reached the main floor, and that was good.  He couldn't stand unnecessary noise.  His father had always told him, a quiet boy is a good boy.  As he walked into the kitchen he noticed the light peeking in between the blinds from the morning sun, just starting to warm up the outside world from the chill of the night.  He loved that about his house, it was one of the main reasons he had decided to buy the place.

     The house, bought five years ago, was very comfortable indeed.  It had a very open layout,  from his view at the bottom of the stairs he could see every room.  The kitchen opened into the living room, which in turn, opened into the dinning room.  He could check on the cleanliness of his entire house by taking in one long look as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs.  This morning everything was in order, he had made sure it was last night before allowing himself to sleep.  

     The kitchen had pristine floors, they were shining and reflecting the sun beams coming from the windows.  He reached the refrigerator, happy to see that there were no fingerprints on the stainless steel doors.  He smiled slightly thinking about cleaning it last night.  Jerking slightly on the door, it popped open and he grabbed a bottle of water.  The inside was just as organized as the outside.  Rows of bottled water lined the middle, along with tupperware containers for everything else.  Those containers were labeled with exactly what was inside them and when it was put there.  He gave the door a push, letting the door close quietly on its own, as he turned and made his way to the living room. 

     He plopped down on his recliner.  It was a big, beast of a chair, age cracks running along the black leather.  It was also extremely comfortable.  He sat and turned up the bottle of water, draining the whole thing in one long multi-gulp drink.  He let out a small quiet burp, covering his mouth with a closed fist.  He screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it into the small trash container next to his chair.  He stretched his arms up over his head feeling refreshed.  Today was going to be a good day, he had that feeling. 

     Next was the paper.  Walking through the house with routined efficiency he made his way to the front door.  He loved the quiet of his house in the early mornings, almost as if the whole day had not yet caught up to him.  It was this time in the morning that was his secret free time, time that ran outside of the normal comings and goings of the day.  He thought then, what it would be like to have kids.  Little monsters to steal his time in the mornings, to be in on the secret that he loved so much.  Kids were so loud, he had friends with kids, and they were always screaming.  The horror stories went on and on.  Little Bobby wouldn't sleep at all last night, tiny Sarah threw up on me this morning after her bottle.  He couldn't understand them, how on earth could they deal with all that noise?  And the mess?  He didn't even want to think about the mess, that might make him decide that it was too much to handle today and just march right back upstairs to his bed.

     He gripped the handle of the front door to continue his ritual, and he suddenly heard his father's voice in his head.  You better clean up Stevie, don't you dare leave this house unless you tidy up!  He looked back over his shoulder to the house that was spotless.  Yes it was clean, but he better make sure.  He walked back into the living room looking for signs of mess.  Once he checked the living room, he went back into the kitchen, checked there, and finished by looking in on the dinning room, all clear.  Returning to the front door he gripped the knob and turned it, heading out onto the porch.  

     He opened the door and walked across the porch and down the stairs, counting them as he went.  One, two, three, four.  Yup same as yesterday and that was good.  He walked down the driveway noticing a few leaves that had fallen during the night.  He stopped at each one and removed them, placing them back into the yard.  It was a lot of work keeping that driveway clean from leaves.  He had once considered chopping down all the trees in his yard just to avoid the leaves.  As much as the leaves bothered him on the driveway, he liked the look of them in the yard, they seemed to belong there.  In the end he decided to keep the trees and deal with the constant infractions of the leaves on his driveway.    

     After the driveway was clean, and restored back to order he continued down toward the road to collect the paper.  Leaves were falling down into the street, initiated by the cool breeze this morning.  Brilliant colors of deep red, rusted orange, and pale yellow.  He hope they stayed off of his newly cleaned driveway, but he expected they wouldn't.  The road glistened with just the faintest hint of morning dew.  He saw the sky was a light blue this morning, not interrupted by clouds.  It was a pleasant morning.  

     There were birds chirping their morning songs, announcing to the day that they were still here.  His neighborhood was mostly quiet and he liked that.  He couldn't stand a bunch of ruckus, another reason he purchased this particular house.  Although it was not without its problems.  One morning not too long ago, his neighbor had been out mowing the lawn when he made his journey to get the paper.  It was unbearable, so much noise ruining the beautiful calm morning.  He almost went over there and told him to stop, but he restrained himself, out of a fear of talking to the man.

      It was then, as his hand was reaching in the mailbox, that he noticed a sound, so faint at first, he almost dismissed it completely.  But before he could it the sound became louder.  It was cutting through the silence like a jagged knife through clothes.  It was a high pitched, sounding to him like a siren.  After a second of wondering what could be causing such a noise he noticed that there was another sound accompanying the whine.  A low rumbling sound sounding a lot like a grumbling car straining to climb a hill.  He looked up and saw nothing but an empty street before him. Turning his head to both sides he scanned the street and the houses for the source of the noise. Nothing.  

     His hand still in the mailbox he gripped the paper and yanked it out.  What a way to start the morning.  This morning had been so calm, so peaceful.  His good mood sank a little then, not degrading to grumpy yet, but close. He noticed a leaf fall and land on the driveway, and he muttered,

     "Great, just great."  

     The sound, which was much louder now continued.  In his morning mind, he couldn't quite place what could be causing such a sound, especially here in his neighborhood. Suddenly it snapped into place, and he understood exactly what was making that sound.  It was a car horn, and a loud one at that.  The grumbling was clearly the cars raging motor strained at high RPMs.  He turned then, snapping his head around, eyes searching for the car.  When he reached a full one-eighty degree turn he found the source of the sound.  

     While technically it was a car he guessed, this car just happened to be a huge sport utility vehicle. A two-thousand-one Cadillac Escalade to be exact, although he couldn't place it at the time.  All it was to him at this moment was a huge red monster heading right toward him.  It plowed through his neighbor's yard throwing up grass and mud as the tires dug into the soft soil.  The sun reflected off the chrome across the grill, it made him think of a disco ball.  He wanted to scream, but his voice wouldn't come, the air hitched in his lungs before he could transform it into a scream.  He stood there paralyzed with fear, staring at the beast of chrome and metal.  

      It bounced through the lawn in front of him.  Overturning a beautiful marble fountain of a boy holding a huge bowl above his head.  Water sprayed out of the bowl and splashed into the yard.  The wheels tore up more dirt and grass, deep ruts trailed the car.  Seconds later it made contact with the street and the wheels made a loud chirping sound as they made contact with the asphalt.  

     He took two staggering steps back, his butt pressing up against the brick mailbox from which he had just retrieved the paper.  He wanted to run or dive out of the way, but all he could manage was to raise his arms up in front of him, the paper in one hand like a sword.  His legs twitched like they wanted to obey him but from fear not movement.  His eyes were locked on the car, and he noticed that the driver was slumped down, head planted on the horn.  He finally managed to work his lungs into a proper scream and it came out all at once in a wail, like a banshee.   

     There was no pain for him, at least not at first.  The impact was sudden and he simply felt the weight pressed against him and was lifted into the air.  He flew through the air, losing consciousness as the momentum of the vehicle continued onward.  The beast devoured his mailbox splintering it in a thousand little brick chips, spraying in every direction.  The tires now digging fresh ruts into his yard.  

     The car continued its critical path and tore into the side of his house, boards snapping and metal screaming.  Dust and debris flew in every direction as the collision completed.  It had traveled through him, his mailbox, lawn, and then, barreled up his stairs.  The car parked itself in his atrium completely obliterating his front door, and the wall a good four feet on either side.  

       He came to in the bushes lining his front porch after the beast was done with him.  At first he was groggy his vision not focusing on anything.  His mind was swimming and he wondered why he was lying in the bushes.  That didn't make any sense to him.  He tried to turn his head blinking his eyes to bring things into focus.  It was no good, he raised his hand to his eyes to rub them and then realized that his hand didn't move.  He couldn't move his legs, or his arms.  He felt them, but as far as moving them he had no luck.  It felt like he was a new entity altogether floating just above his body, looking out at the driveway.  He saw the driveway through blurry red tinted eyes, and saw the dirt and debris there.  I am going to have to clean that up, he thought.

     He tried to move again, and realized that wasn't going to happen.  His breaths came in hard ragged pulls.  He moved his eyes to look down at himself.  His clothes were ripped in multiple places and most of them were a reddish brown.  Dirt and blood mixing to a rusty color covering him.  There was one of his roses tangled with his right leg.  He looked back out to the driveway.  He felt very sleepy then, and thought even though there was a huge mess on the driveway he might just take a nap.  He was pretty comfortable after all, even here in the bushes.  He closed his blurry eyes and pulled his last bubbling breath.   

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